The door opened and Captain James “Blackjack” Nevers came in. A handsome man with a dapper mustache, his face was on Army recruiting posters before civilization fell. Many didn’t know it, but Never's had a vicious streak. He’d been in Army Intelligence, serving in all the pre-Rise hotspots, and had seen and done (admitted to Taylor under the influence of alcohol) things he would never forget. While he might never forget them, he didn’t let them effect the way he functioned. The difference was, back then; their enemies were humans who were endangering the rest of the world. Nevers could understand them; they were doing what their government or their faith told them to, much as he. The Lazarites were a very different subject. They were simply mad men and women who had to be destroyed like rabid animals.
“Anything?” Asked Nevers.
“Nothing so far,” replied Taylor. “We’re getting the prayer board now.”
The Lazarite, muttering through his ravage mouth said, “I’ll never pray for you!”
Taylor and Nevers exchanged sharp glances as Chung and Houston returned, carrying the ‘prayer board”. It was a device that forced one put in it into a kneeling position. Once in this position, hands strapped down flat so that the fingers were splayed, legs bent at the knee and spread apart, there was no way to defend against an interrogator’s attacks.
Setting the device down into its clamps, Chung and Houston grabbed the nearly naked captive and held him down. The man came to life struggling and cursing them all. This lasted until Nevers took out his blackjack and gave him a sharp crack in the temple. The man fell limp and was more manageable after that. As soon as Chung and Houston were done, Nevers pointed to the door with a thumb. “All of you, out.”
Taylor knew better than to protest. Nevers wouldn’t let anyone be present when he interrogated a suspect. This was the first Lazarite they’d taken who survived to be brought to the Enclave. Taylor thought briefly of Miss Frances, another captive who’d taken an unassisted flight out of a chopper. Somehow, the Lazarites knew of Nevers, since it was his decision that had the troops running aggressive patrols, taking on the Lazarites wherever and whenever they could. The Lazarites let it be known that they had a price on Nevers head and promised that if he were ever caught, he’d be fed to the Blessed one layer of skin at a time. Never’s laughed off their threats; he’d never let himself be taken alive. He wouldn’t give the bastards the pleasure.
“The day,” he declared. “Those fucks get me, the whole east coast will know about it.”
As soon as the door closed, Nevers slapped the Lazarite into consciousness. The captive smiled through smashed lips, blood drooling out of the left corner to drip on the prayer board.
“More talk? Fuck off, unbeliever. I’ll die before I talk.”
Nevers smiled. The sight of that humorless grimace caused the Lazarite, dry mouth or not, to swallow, his Adams apple bobbing up and down. Never’s mouth curled up but his eyes were like dark pools that sucked in all light. Nevers stroked the man’s left pinky gently. “You won’t talk?” He asked softly.
Sharp as the sound of a rifle shot the pinky was snapped midway between the hand and the third knuckle. The Lazarite screamed soundlessly the pain so sudden it overwhelmed his senses.
Nevers leaned close, putting his mouth against the Lazarites ear. “How many people did you feed to those fucking things, shithead?” The Lazarite had tears in his eyes as his other pinky was snapped and the finger twisted, the bone jutting through the flesh.
Nevers took both thumbs in his large hands. In a soft voice, he said, “When you’re ready to talk, I’m ready to listen.”
An insistent pounding made Taylor, shotgun in hand, open the interrogation room’s door. Nevers, sweaty and blood stained stepped into the corridor. Taylor just stared at his superior, at a loss for any words.
Nevers looked nonchalant as he said, “Call a clean up crew. Have them get rid of that. We have a name; it’s the same bitch who was in 5’s AO; Veronica.”
Taylor licked his lips, “Did he say anything about how they don’t get eaten?”
Never’s eyes narrowed. “No, Sonuvabitch kept that to himself.” Speaking with grim admiration, Nevers said, “He was a tough bastard. Most fanatics are.”
Taylor looked past his boss to the Lazarite. The man looked as if he’d gone through a meat grinder. His hands were pulpy things, every bone in them shattered, his face a bloody mask, tatters of skin hanging off it. One eye stared at him, but it was obvious the owner of it wasn’t seeing a thing. Taylor, who’d seen many horrible things in the years he’d been in the army, shut the door partially, not wanting to see more.
Nevers started to walk away. “Joe, I’m going to get cleaned up and get this name out over the net. Maybe the other Enclaves have heard something.”
By the time Nevers reached his quarters, he’d be hard pressed to remember what he’d done in that room. This wasn’t like the Gulf where the enemy were human beings who fought for what they believed. Anyone who would side with the zombies against their own was far from human. The Lazarite had meant nothing to him, the remnants of humanity everything.
When he finally went to bed that night, he would sleep innocent as a babe.
23 September 2033
Lazarite Camp
Somewhere in Pennsylvania
Veronica stared at the captive, a young man, barely out of his teen years who was on his knees before her. Dried blood crusted one side of his mouth; his left eye was bruised and puffy. The diamond brand on his cheek was discolored where his cheekbone was broken.
Veronica put her hand under his chin and forced his head back. “You little fool! Did you think you were just going to walk up to an Enclave, knock on the gate, and be welcomed in?”
The two Docents who had caught the boy trying to sneak off in the day hadn’t been kind. He wasn’t the first who had turned from the way; he wouldn’t be the last. Now, he would be used to set an example to others. This would let them know that betrayal of the order would not be tolerated.
Veronica slapped the boy, rocking his head to the right. “We are the future, not the Enclavers! They hold onto the past, to the old ways. They reject heaven and its messengers!” One of the boy’s captors silently held out a hand. In it was a plastic baggie holding one of the chunks of bread they saved for converts. Few of the Lazarites knew who created the pills, only that when the Blessed began rising, this communion kept (most of) them safe. The percentage of Lazarites that did know was infinitesimal. This compartmentalization was so if any of the common members were captured, they had no secret to reveal. If the unbelievers ever learned this, even worse, duplicated it, the slim edge the Lazarites held over them would vanish. The unbelievers could retake the world, walking across it with impunity, and the Order would be destroyed to its last member.
Veronica’s eyes narrowed. “So, not only were you going to betray us, you were going to give the unbelievers this?”
The boy was weeping now and mumbling. Veronica turned and walked a few feet away. Making a ‘come here’ motion to a Docent, she whispered to him. As soon as she was done, the Docent came over.
“You’re going to regret you were ever born.” Raising a small club, he clipped the boy on his head, knocking him unconscious.
When the would-be traitor awoke, he was strapped to a flat board. Thick ropes pinned his arms and chest. The board was part of a fence set before one of the houses in the small town they had taken refuge for the day. He was nude, the cool breeze blowing across him making him shiver. Two Docents with a toolbox stood to his right, Veronica to his left, the acolytes, and other Docents in front of him. He couldn’t see the Blessed, but he could smell them. The other members of the cell were keeping them back.
“This was once one of us,” announced Veronica. “Yesterday, he decided we were not the chosen, that the word of Lazarus was not true.”
There were grumblings from the assembled. The boy thought about protesting, about speaking in his defense, but he knew it would do no goo
d.
To his right, one of the Docents was feeding a charcoal brazier. In it, a large bladed knife was heating up. The other Docent was holding a small hand ax.
“I have thought long on what we will do to him, what punishment he is worthy of. I thought of feeding him to the Blessed, but no, for then he would enter heaven.”
The crowd growled their approval.
Veronica put a hand on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat. It was quick from the fear that was shrinking his testicles and making his mouth dry.
“I have decided that he will wander the earth. He will be neither one of us, nor an angel. Watch! Watch and see what happens to one who betrays the word!”
One Docent, a slender black man with a scarred face, raised the axe and chopped it down. In one clean swipe, the boy’s right hand came off. Instantly the other Docent sealed the wound with the knife. The blood hissed at it evaporated on the white-hot blade. A second chop and his left hand flopped to the ground as well. An acolyte scurried forward and gathered them up. They would be given to the Blessed.
Tears of pain filled the boy’s eyes and a whimper escaped his chapped lips. The Docents came forward, the black one holding a hammer, the other one holding nails. A strong looking acolyte joined them. They held his head tightly, while the black man nailed his jaw shut. The pain made the boy pass out. Once they were done, Veronica took a blade from her belt and carved a message into his chest, it read ‘TRAITOR’. Then, with a vicious swipe, she cut his throat as well. As the blood gushed out of his body, flowing down to pool around him, Veronica said, “He will wander forever, shunned by us, unable to partake in the flesh. Any believers he encounters will not free him. Until he rots into the ground, he will remain an outsider.” Veronica watched coldly as his chest slowed to a stop. “Anyone who destroys him will suffer a worse fate.” With a motion to the Docents, she turned and walked away.
25 September 2033
Enclave 13 Communications center
New York/Pennsylvania Border
Taylor sat in the comms room, reading the replies from the other Enclaves. The message about Veronica had gone out two days ago. In that time business as usual went on inside the Enclaves. Rescue and assault missions were run. While zombies and stray Lazarites were killed, none of the teams had encountered Veronica and her group. Reading another negative report, Taylor rubbed his chin. Where would this viper and her nest strike next?
25 September 2033
Lazarite Camp
Somewhere on the New York/Pennsylvania Border
The tarps were up, the night fires lit; these were kept small to nullify any detection by the unbeliever’s technology. Food was being prepared. In a small clearing in the center of the wooded area that Veronica had halted her group in, kneeled five new acolytes. All of them had their heads shaven; their right cheeks glistened with burn ointment, their brands fresh. Veronica thought it stupid to merely tattoo those who joined. A tattoo could be hidden or removed, the scar explained. This way those who joined remained faithful. At least most did.
One acolyte was lost. He was one of the unlucky. Either the pill had not worked for him or he had some small, overlooked wound. Veronica shook her head, wondering how he had lasted this long, as he was pulled down, the Blessed tearing into him, shredding the flesh from his bones, tearing his limbs from their sockets, devouring him. Veronica had pointed as some others stopped to stare in shock. Thinking fast, knowing the truth about their protection, she decided to use this to her own benefit.
“This man was not a true believer!”
What she didn’t say was that the deceased had once been a drug addict, as well as a shirker. She was glad to see him go.
The new acolytes were part of a small group holed up in the supermarket of a small town. Near starvation, they just wanted to live. Originally, there were seventeen of them. Six had fallen to the Blessed when the Docents and acolytes broke through the defenses. One acolyte was killed; a booby trap of cans filled with debris crushing his skull. Spreading through this failed sanctuary, another seven were captured alive, these now waited for Veronica to give them to the Blessed.
She was going to use them to have the new acolytes prove their loyalty.
“You have joined the last religion on Earth. The only true belief.” Veronica’s voice, deeper than the average woman’s carried well over the camp.
“When the dead rose, Lazarus was prepared. Lazarus was not his real name; it was taken from false beliefs to show them he did not fear them or their perceptions. He gave his life fearlessly to show us all the way!”
Veronica looked over the four women and two men. One woman was attractive, her nipples hard in the cool air, her green eyes filled with belief. She had creamy pale skin that was dotted with freckles and goose pimples. Veronica licked her lips for a moment. Perhaps she would … talk to this woman later.
Veronica’s nosed wrinkled. On a calm, cool night like this she could smell herself, smell the others. The pills that gave them immunity made them smell like rotting flesh.
She stepped in front of the kneeling, shivering forms. “Once you are with us, you are with us forever. Betrayal is punished by fixing the betrayer.” She motioned and two Docents brought the recent traitor into the light. “Look up!” She commanded.
The six looked at the newest angel. Stumps where the hands had been were covered in flies; the word TRAITOR carved in his chest was writhing with maggots. Try as the angel might, it couldn’t open its mouth.
“This is one of the Fallen.” Veronica made a motion and the Docent’s shoved the creature out of the light. “Betray the cause and you will end up like this. Or worse. Rise.”
The would-be acolytes, cold and stiff, stumbled to their feet; all but the woman Veronica admired covering their groins. The woman stared boldly ahead, thin lips pale with the cold. Veronica motioned to one of the waiting acolytes, who covered only her with a blanket.
“What is your name?”
“Lisa,” she replied, voice neutral.
“Do you swear to follow the ways of the Lazarus even if you are called upon to give your flesh to the Blessed, or you yourself ascend to such?”
A fierceness filled Lisa’s voice. “I do.”
Veronica made another motion. A Docent came forward holding a long, wicked looking knife. Veronica took it and turned slightly. Two more Docents were approaching, dragging a bound young man, one side of his face bruised, into the circle of light. They forced him to his knees and he cried out, “Lisa! What are they doing to you?”
Lisa took the knife from Veronica’s open hand. She knew what she had to do. Grabbing the young man by his hair, she jerked his head back. “They aren’t doing anything to me,” she whispered. “I’m surviving.”
“But I’m your bro…” He never finished the sentence as she dragged the sharp knife across his throat. The hot coppery smell of blood filled the air as it jetted out of severed arteries and veins, splattered onto Lisa’s belly and breasts. She stepped back and watched as the young man toppled over, blood spurting into the dust. Casually she put a finger in the splattered blood and drew a diamond on her stomach.
The smell of the blood brought the Blessed in droves. Staggering and grunting, they pushed each other aside, all of them trying to be first to reach the warm flesh. Two Docents pulled Lisa back and hastily cleaned her off. They were just in time as the first zombie to reach the dying man jammed its fingers deep into his wounded throat and began to tug. Eyes rolling back, the man died as the zombie tore his throat further open, finally tearing free a huge chunk of flesh. Lisa’s brother collapsed, head held onto to his body only by his neck bone. Lifting its prize, the zombie began chewing, eating with mindless abandon. It staggered away unwilling to share its prize with any of the others.
Veronica smiled triumphantly. “Welcome to the Order of Lazarus. Bring her clothes!”
There were others to be initiated or sacrificed before the sun rose.
27 September 2033
Nevers
Office - Enclave 13
New York/Pennsylvania Border
Never’s rubbed his chin and stared hard at Taylor and Chung. “I have an idea, but it’s a dangerous one. Take quite a few resources, but I think it’ll be worth it.”
Taylor, lifting an icy cold coke (one of the things he liked to scavenge when he wasn’t destroying zombies or killing Lazarites) and took a sip. Never’s had a bottle of Jack Daniels on the table, but currently it was untouched.
“This Veronica has definitely entered our AO.”
“How do you know that?” asked Chung.
Never’s lay a map out on his desk, weighting one side of it with the whiskey bottle. “Remember that farm, the barricaded one?”
Taylor rubbed his chin. “Ah, the religious nuts. Said they worshipped the sun? Willing to trade food for ammo? Wouldn’t come into the Enclave?”
Never’s nodded. “Those are the ones. Yesterday they were on the radio screaming for help. Your team was already out; Zorich’s team was down due to exhaustion. We scrambled a few choppers and called Enclave 5 for additional help. Took a little time, they’ve been busy too. Expanding the walls for more farmland. By the time we got there…” Never’s lay the recon photos on his desk. Chung picked them up and began fingering through them. His face went pale as he handed the photos to Taylor.
Taylor put down his coke as icy sweat ran down his back. The survivors of the small farm hadn’t been merely staked out; they’d been wired down so the zombies couldn’t pull them apart. Skeletons, pink with drying blood lay in a circle, picked clean. From the size of the skeletons, at least two were young children.
Never’s took the pictures back, dropped them into a drawer. “Looks like this Veronica bitch is getting really bold. But she’s fucking around in the wrong area. There are a few more hamlets scattered around. I sent out a chopper to warn them. We also made a good description of the bitch from 5’s survivor.” Never’s handed a paper to Chung. He and Taylor looked at it. Veronica was an attractive woman, but she was first and foremost the enemy.
Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse Page 37
